


Devout

by legendofthesevenstars



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:40:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthesevenstars/pseuds/legendofthesevenstars
Summary: Tyrea fights to prove herself worthy of the Bionite Order and her mother's love. Written for the Monado Zine.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Devout

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for the [Monado Zine](https://twitter.com/monado_zine). I was very honored to be accepted into and contribute to this zine, especially a zine centered around my favorite game of all time!
> 
> I am very thankful to the mods and the other contributors for making my first zine experience so much fun. Go check out the other full pieces on the Monado Zine Twitter account!

Tyrea grew up in the dark. Light shone through the narrow windows in the secret rooms of the palace, but it was filtered through curtains. She could not leave to talk or play with other children, and she was only allowed to go outside if Mother’s maid were around to watch her. Mother and her maid were the only people Tyrea knew, and she did not see Mother often.

Mother came by once a week, sometimes every two weeks. Mother was not like the mothers in the books her maid read. Mother was not warm. She was cold and sharp. She was beautiful, but austere. She was intelligent, but she looked down on Tyrea. When Tyrea didn’t know the answers to questions she asked, she glared at her. Mother was cruel.

Mother was severe, but she was not distant. She taught Tyrea all about the High Entia and the Imperial line. She told Tyrea that the Imperial Line should never have taken a Second Consort. She told her that only the purest High Entia deserved to rule, and that High Entia of pure heritage needed to ensure that. She taught Tyrea all about manners and etiquette and how to properly address her: _First Consort Yumea Antiqua_. Sometimes, she stayed for the meal that the maid cooked. And reluctantly, she read books when it was Tyrea’s bedtime.

Mother was cold, but Tyrea only knew the cold.

—

Tyrea was seventy-five, an adolescent. She was growing taller, and her voice was deepening. The day after her birthday, she was to meet her mother privately in her chambers in the Imperial Palace. Today marked her first time in the main wing. It was in a much better state of upkeep than the concealed rooms where she lived. The floor was polished, the statues were dusted, and the light poured in through the windows.

Mother’s maid escorted her to Mother’s chambers. Tyrea knocked on the door and entered, bowing her head. “Greetings, First Consort.”

“Take a seat.”

She seated herself and met Mother’s eyes uneasily.

“Would you like tea?” Mother asked, cold as ever.

Tyrea shook her head. She was afraid she might choke on anything she drank. “First Consort,” she said, bowing her head in deference, “for what purpose have I been summoned here today?”

“Do you recall learning of the Bionite Order and its purpose?”

“An organization that ensures only the purest High Entia may rule.” Tyrea parroted Mother’s lecture effortlessly.

“Now that you are an appropriate age, you will join the Bionite Order and serve me.” She stated it plainly, like a fact. Tyrea had no choice. “You will become the thirteenth sister if you can prove yourself in battle against the Head Inquisitor.”

Tyrea bit her lip. “But M—First Consort, forgive my ignorance, but I have never fought before.”

“Once you are put in a dangerous situation, your inner ether will awaken. Perhaps I was mistaken to shelter you for so long, but I must be reasonable. I refuse to throw a little girl into combat.”

Tyrea still felt like a little girl, but she knew she had to start growing up now. She finally had the chance to show Mother that she could be grown up and mature, and that she truly wanted to take back the throne for the pureblooded High Entia.

—

With a ring of keys in her hand, Mother led her into a secret chamber in the bowels of the palace after midnight fell. The room was dark, lit only with a few metal sconces; the yellowed paint was peeling off the wall with age; and the floor was covered in an unidentified gray film that smelled musty and damp. It felt even more ancient than the rest of the palace did, even more ancient than the wing where Tyrea had grown up, almost as if it had been the foundation of an earlier palace.

Across the room stood a masked girl clad in a black skirted leotard. She wore black gloves, stockings, and boots. Twin gauntlets covered her hands, glowing dagger-like blades extending from them. Before Tyrea could get her bearings, Mother shoved a long metal staff into her hands.

“Try this first,” she said.

The girl charged at Tyrea, brandishing her blades for a strike. Instinctively, she raised the staff horizontally, barring her opponent, and tried to push her away. Though she could not see the girl’s face, the mask itself seemed to glare at her. Her heart pounded in her ears.

“You have legs for a reason!” Mother shouted. “Don’t just stand there. Do something else to defend yourself!”

Tyrea flailed one leg in a pathetic kick, hitting the girl in the side and causing her to flinch. She stepped back to prepare for her next move. A strange pressure was building between her ribs.

Her opponent charged toward her again, and Tyrea blocked her with the staff. She pushed her away, unlocking their weapons and leaving her open for another, swifter kick. Tyrea stumbled forward, thrown off balance by her own maneuver. While she tried to regain her footing, the girl’s gauntlets began to glow. A glittery shimmer enveloped them, and a white gleam of light burst from one of the blades. It collided with Tyrea’s ribcage, knocking the wind out of her and sending her tumbling onto the floor.

Mother groaned. “Pay attention, you daft girl! Such a shameful and pitiful display, of which I have never seen the likes.”

Tyrea coughed, picked up her staff, and slowly got to her feet. The warm pressure in her ribs had spread to her veins. She relaxed her shoulders and stood firmly in place as her opponent approached her. She delivered a hard blow with the staff to the girl’s shoulder, and the girl backed away, startled. Finally, she’d been able to catch her off guard. In the wake of her little victory, the pressure inside her peaked, heat bursting between her ribs. It faded just as quickly, and out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a purplish glow surrounding her arms. Gasping, she backed away from her opponent.

“What is this?” She turned to Mother, who was watching, arms folded. “Is this dangerous?”

“Are you simple? Do you not _know_ what an aura is?”

An innate power that comes from one’s inner ether. The punch to her shoulder made her flinch, but she retaliated, socking the girl’s head with a solid _thwack_. She cried in pain, clutching her head. Now she could finish her off!

Tyrea tried to concentrate. She reached deep inside herself like the old High Entia soldiers had done in that war against the Homs.

Energy rushed through her veins and came out her knee in a burst of colorful ether with her kick. The girl landed on her back, clutching her stomach and groaning.

“Mo—First Consort!” Tyrea bowed her head, dropping to one knee. “I have achieved victory. Is this satisfactory?”

“Unfortunately for you, she was not the Head Inquisitor. And…” She buried her face in one palm, shaking her head with a sigh. “Evidently, you are not suited to using a staff, considering your performance was quite mediocre.”

Tyrea’s heart fell into her stomach. She did not lift her head. Mother was cold and cruel, just like she’d always been.

“You must train much more before you can hope to prove yourself against the Head Inquisitor,” Mother said. She walked over to the girl. “Are you all right?”

The girl stood up. “I am fine, First Consort. She was a worthy opponent. I nearly forgot, but when you are done, the Minister of Research wishes to see you.”

“Understood. You may depart.”

“My gratitude.”

Tyrea waited, looking up at Mother expectantly, but she only said, “I have no more business with you. Return home.”

—

Tyrea met and fought the rest of the Inquisitors, including the Head Inquisitor. Once she was initiated into the Bionite Order, they would become her sisters. Even as her skills with ether developed further, she never seemed to please Mother. It was as if she would never be pleased.

The Head Inquisitor was a swift and skilled fighter. But Tyrea had become a master of wielding dual blades. The other sisters teased her for relying on kicks and punches, so she tried to use her ether more often. Even after that, they still teased her for being the First Consort’s pet. Mother had told her that she must never reveal the truth of her parentage, so she stayed silent, even when they came close to the truth.

After Tyrea had proven herself against the Head Inquisitor, she was initiated in a clandestine ceremony, conducted exactly at one o’clock. She signed the contract in blood, then burned it to ash by summoning fire. The other twelve sisters and the Minister of Research returned to their homes, and she was left alone with Mother again.

“You have a special purpose as the thirteenth sister of the Bionite Order,” Mother said.

Tyrea’s hands trembled. She wanted to take off her mask and look Mother in the eye, but now that she was an Inquisitor, she couldn’t think of her as Mother.

“If that vile half-Homs princess ever ascends the throne, you must kill her. Unlike the prince, she is not my child, and therefore she is not pureblooded.”

Tyrea had only heard of the prince. He was slightly older than she was, and the First Consort was his mother. She still did not know the princess’ name.

“You are the only one I can trust with this duty. Because you are my only daughter.”

Tyrea withheld her gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. This was her mission, assigned to her not by the Head Inquisitor, not by the Empress, nor the Minister of Research, but by Mother, the Grand Empress of the Bionite Order.

Mother was really going to trust her with a momentous duty like this? Despite how much she had grown, she wasn’t sure if she would be confident enough to take the princess down when the time came. But she would have to do it. To prove she was cold and unfeeling enough for her mother’s narrow love.

“Do you accept this mission? Or must I assign it to another, lesser Inquisitor?”

“You have no need to worry,” Tyrea said, bowing her head and biting back the tears. “I will carry out any duty for your sake, First Consort.”


End file.
